i can already tell
your fingers will
wash over me
like the sea.
the storm won’t be easy
my tiny vessel will submerge
into depths of cerulean
mermaids won’t sing to me
they’ll howl in my ears
as the current pulls me
in all directions.
the storm will not cease
until i am a wreckage.
what does this say of me,
as a sailor,
to steer my ship
into the abyss
nevertheless?